


Your Arms Like Towers (Tower Over Me)

by getsprouttahere



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Harry Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, Louis' POV, M/M, PTSD!Harry, and he dissociates, it's not very descriptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7034698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getsprouttahere/pseuds/getsprouttahere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're at a party and Louis steps away for just a moment, only to come back and realize he really shouldn't have left.</p>
<p>Or, Harry and Louis are attempting to be social. Harry dissociates and Louis panics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Arms Like Towers (Tower Over Me)

\--too loud, too bright, too many voices and too many people and then the smells, the smells and the--

 

"Babe? You alright?" 

Harry's eyes are wide open, staring down at his lap blankly. His knuckles are white where they're clutching the wooden seat of the chair like a life raft, steadying him, and Louis doesn't need a shake of the head to know he isn't.

Fuck, he helplessly curses, freezing. I only left him on his own for two fucking minutes and--

Louis cuts his train of though off with a deep breath and rubs his forehead, thinking quick. He starts looking around the room in search of a head of bleach-blonde hair - “Niall!" he calls out over whatever Christmas carol remix is currently playing, “Ni! Harry and I have to go, okay?"

Across the room from them, Niall frowns. "Wait, what? You're leaving? But it's not even ten o'clock yet!" He starts making his way through the people milling about. Louis frantically tries to communicate his desperation through eye contact, which only serves to make Niall frown more. "The fuck, mate?" he asks, "What's wrong?"

Louis shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a breath. He knows Harry doesn't know Niall that well yet and that he doesn't want everyone knowing the personal details of his mental health, so instead he just discreetly rubs Harry's back and musters the brightest smile he can. "Nothing's wrong, just a little tired," he cheerfully offers. "It's been an absolute blast, though." Niall is clearly about to scoff something in return when his eyes flick down to Harry and he abruptly shuts his mouth. Before he has the opportunity to say anything, Louis shuts him up with a warning look intense enough to wither a small tree. "We'll see you around, yeah?" he asks between gritted teeth.

Niall's eyebrows just about raise themselves up into his hairline. "Sure, mate," he finally blinks, holding his hands up as if in surrender. "Catch you around. Merry Christmas!"

With that, he shoots the two of them another peculiar look and wades back into the recesses of the living room, leaving Louis to bend down to Harry's level and gently place a hand on his hunched shoulder. "Let's just get you the fuck out of here, okay?" he murmurs. "Fuck. 'M sorry for leaving you, babe."

Harry continues to stare unresponsively down at his knees and Louis straightens up to run a hand through his hair, mentally sifting through escape routes - front door, no; too many people between here and there. Kitchen door, no; the putrid smell of vodka and weed would be far too overwhelming. Garage door, no; Louis doesn’t even know where that would be. Back door... maybe? Whatever he does, he has to do it fast; although Harry would never admit it, it's fairly plain to see that his mental health only deteriorates in stressful situations. If Louis doesn't get him out soon, he'll only be more anxious the next time they get invited to something like this.

Louis mentally curses again. He bends back down and starts trying to gently pry Harry's cold fingers from the chair. "That's it, darling," Louis softly croons into his ear, uncurling each digit one by one, "I'm here. It's okay. We're going home now, alright? We're going home. You're safe. Everything's okay."

Absently, he starts singing a little tune as he slips an arm around Harry's waist, inconspicuously trying to pull him to his feet. Harry rises easily enough under his touch. His emerald eyes are glazed over, looking downwards as Louis tries to maneuver him through the crowd. "'Scuse me, sorry. 'Scuse me," he mutters, heading in the direction of the back door.

Harry continues to drift along at his side, beginning to mutter unintelligible phrases under his breath every few steps. "Almost there," Louis encourages him, guiding him in front. They finally reach the back doorway and Lou curses again because of course their shoes are at the front door.

By this point, Harry's pretty much shaking from overstimulation and Louis is getting steadily more freaked out that Harry is going to end up having a breakdown right there in front of everyone (not that it would be the first time, but once is enough). Eventually he metaphorically shakes himself and tells Harry, "I'm going to have to carry you out to the car, okay, babe? I'll drop by to pick up our shoes tomorrow."

His voice sounds strained even to his own ears, and he forces himself to clear his throat and take a deep breath - Harry needs you, he reminds himself. He needs you right now, and you can't help him if you start freaking out too. "Okay," Louis finally exhales, "Let's do this."

He opens the door as discreetly as possible to avoid the attention of partygoers, gently pulling Harry outside onto the step and closing it behind the two of them. Louis bends down enough to position one arm at the joint of his boyfriend’s knees and one around his waist, promptly scooping him up bridal style and starting down the walk.

Ordinarily, here's where he'd make some sort of joke or try to kiss Harry, but right now, Louis is way too rattled and Harry is far too spaced-out to find any of it even the slightest bit amusing. "Almost there," Louis huffs as he makes out the shape of the car at the end of the street, "Almost there."

Harry's head jerks suddenly, bumping sharply against his collarbone; his lips are moving faintly now, busily shaping themselves into soundless words that Louis can't discern. "Almost there," he fervently repeats. "We're almost there, babe, almost home."

His socked feet stumble the last few steps to the car and he violently tugs the handle open, bundling Harry into the passenger seat as gently as possible before clicking his seatbelt into place. He presses a kiss to Harry's forehead and then jogs around to the driver's side of the car with numb toes.

It's freezing, but Louis just blasts the heat and floors it as fast as he can to get back to their flat. He reaches over at a stoplight and gently takes Harry limp right hand, twining their fingers together over the centre console in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. "It'll be alright," he announces into the silence of the car. "We're almost home."

Harry doesn't look over. He merely continues to stare blankly out the window the whole way home, completely unmoving except for the way he shivers and his head jerks to the side every so often.

He doesn't even flinch when Louis parks the car and gets out to open the door, doesn't even blink when Louis picks him up, carries him through the main door and into the lift. 

"Almost there," Louis keeps telling him, "We're almost there. You did so well tonight, darling, and I'm so sorry I went and left you there all by yourself. I know how much you hate those things and I swear, I'll never do that again."

In the harsh light of the packed lift, Harry's lengthy eyelashes cast delicate shadows against his cheeks. His eyes are cracked open slightly, but he looks exhausted to the bone.

"Almost there," Louis quietly says for the thousandth time that night. "We're nearly home." Finally, the elevator dings to signify they've reached their floor, followed by another one of Harry's shivers as they step out of the lift.

Louis moves down the hall as fast as he can until he reaches their door. He shifts and raises one knee against the wall so that Harry's legs are supported by his thigh and he can grope around in his back pocket for the key, fumbling with it for a moment before eventually succeeding in unlocking the door. "There we go," he says breathlessly, "C'mon, let's get you straight into bed."

Harry exhales a tiny sigh against his boyfriend and saviour's chest. Ignoring his own dirty, sopping wet socks, Louis carries him into the bedroom before gently setting him down in a sitting position on the bed. He then sets about tugging Harry’s dry socks off of his feet, followed by undoing his pants and sliding those down too. The shirt is just plain cotton, so he lets it stay on. 

All the while he does this, he sings softly, a song that holds so much meaning: “And it’s alright calling out for somebody to hold tonight," he sings, “When you’re lost I’ll find the way, I’ll be your light. You’ll never feel like you’re alone."

“I’ll make this feel like home." He tosses the discarded clothes on the ground. “I’ll make this feel like home."

“We’ll make this feel like home.” Louis rounds the bed and pulls down the covers, gently pushing Harry down onto his back and then rolling him over onto his left side, just the way he always sleeps. “I love you so much, Angel."

Louis pulls the sheets up and tucks them in a little bit around his body. His head jerks against the pillow and he shivers the tiniest bit, but the episode is clearly dying down, not nearly as severe as before. "I can see the little gears working in your brain," Louis fondly whispers, running a hand through Harry's thick curls. "Try to turn them off and go to sleep, love. I'll come to bed in a few minutes."

There it is, hiding in the very corner of Harry's mouth; a smile. The blank look is still there, but it's sleepy and faraway for right now.

"I love you," Louis quietly tells him. "And I know you're going to get all angry and embarrassed about this in the morning, but just sleep right now, okay?"

"Just sleep right now, okay?" Harry echoes back at him, eyes locked on the comforter in front of him. He pauses his breathing, daring to glance briefly up at Louis, offering a minuscule nod. "Yeah." Quieter, he adds, "I love you, too."

Louis smiles. "G'night, darling."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from We Are Broken by PARAMORE. 
> 
> This song is special to me, for very different reasons, but reasons nonetheless. This is a short oneshot, and it's a little sad, but I hope y'all enjoyed it. 
> 
> xx


End file.
